


if only for a night

by elleTchj



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Facial Shaving, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24921622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleTchj/pseuds/elleTchj
Summary: Kallus doesn't want to admit it, but he needs Zeb's help when his own trembling hands can't do the job.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 19
Kudos: 205





	if only for a night

**Author's Note:**

> Many thank to Susan for beta-ing this! And kudos to Ship and Sempaiko for basically plotting this fic with me, sorry I couldn't fit everything!

It takes the Ghost a good two days to reach Yavin IV after they narrowly escape Thrawn’s attack. Everyone on board is exhausted, hurt, dying, or a mix of the three, and it’s a miracle they haven’t lost anyone so far. When they finally dock under the pyramid, Zeb helps everyone disembark, letting the rebels in the worst shape lean on him for support. He barely catches Kallus, who bolts out despite his bum leg.

He doesn’t see the man for a week. Kallus makes himself scarce, no matter how much Zeb insisted he was welcome after they rescued him. When Hera asks Zeb if he’s seen the ex-Imperial anywhere, he can only mumble an excuse that she doesn’t buy for a second. “Find him,” she tells the Lasat, and it’s _General Syndulla_ giving the order. He can’t say no.

Zeb searches all over the base, trying to catch sight of his distinctive mutton chops. He checks the mess hall, the medical station, even the command center, with no success.

“Where the kriff are you, Kal,” Zeb mumbles to himself as he paces around the landing field. He doesn’t really know why he wants to see the ex-Imperial so badly. He’s just worried, he tells himself. The sun has set a while ago, and the sounds of Zeb’s hurried footsteps echo as he crosses the empty hangar.

His heart jumps as he hears the sound of a familiar voice swearing in a posh Coruscanti accent. He’s grateful that his ears are much more sensitive than a human’s, because he finds where the sound is coming from without much effort. Zeb rushes to the public fresher to find Kallus bent over one of the sinks, his hands gripping the metallic sides.

The fresher was something put together in a haste, the sinks barely more than huge metal boxes tentatively affixed the temple’s stone walls. It’s also empty, save for an Imperial defector and a worried Lasat.

“Kallus. You okay?” Zeb approaches, his feet light on the tiles. He doesn’t want to spook the man who’s been avoiding him like a wild loth-cat.

“I am _fine_.” Kallus spits, but he doesn’t manage to sound as curt as he would like. If anything it comes out as more of a whine, and it’s enough to prompt Zeb to move in closer. The Lasat places a paw -impossibly large, clawed- on Kallus’s shoulder, and squeezes.

Kallus turns around, tearing himself from Zeb’s grip. His facial hair is a mess, Zeb notices first thing. His usually sharp points are crooked, and the right side is notably shorter than the left. The second thing Zeb notices is that Kallus’s hands are shaking, tremors that he tries to hide by holding onto the sink behind him.

“What do you want?”

“I just wanted to check how you were doing. You kinda ran on us after we landed.” Zeb shrugs a little and offers Kallus a gentle smile.

Kallus takes his time to answer. Zeb can see by the way he scrunches his nose that the man is struggling with what he wants to say. He gives him space.

“My trial is tomorrow.” Kallus finally reveals, his voice a whisper. “High command is to decide whether to throw me in jail or give me a medal.”

“Is that why you were hiding in here?” Zeb asks. Hiding is so unlike the Kallus he knows. This Kallus looks lost, almost _afraid_.

“If I am to be judged, I’d rather not seem like a scruffy maniac.” Kallus scoffs, and scratches at his messed up beard. Zeb winces, unable to hide that Kallus’s shaving attempt is an obvious failure.

“I _know_ how it looks,” The ex-imperial grumbles. “It appears my hands are still unsteady after…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but he doesn’t need to. Zeb knows. He remembers the bruised and bloodied Kallus who boarded the Ghost in the heat of the battle.

“You can ask for help, you know that, right? That’s what rebels do. We care for each other.” Zeb steps in closer. To his relief, Kallus doesn’t push him away. “I heard about that one U-Wing guy, with the stache. Apparently, he doubles as a barber for the pilots in his downtime. He could fix it.” Zeb gestures at Kallus’s sideburns, stopping short of touching the golden hair there.

“No rebel would help an Imperial.” Kallus’s head bends down, and Zeb finally gets it.

“An Imperial _defector_. And I would.” Zeb corrects him. He won’t let his Fulcrum feel _shame_. Not after he’d risked his life, left everything he knew, just so he could do what was right.

Kallus sighs with his whole body, his chest rising and falling. He doesn’t know how to react to Zeb’s offers of kindness, he doesn’t understand how the Lasat is able to show him mercy.

The tremors in his hands suddenly worsen, and he has to let go of his grip on the sink. And Zeb, always there, despite everything, Zeb catches him before he stumbles. With a large purple hand on Kallus’s hip, he helps him back upright, letting the other man lean against him.

“I might need some assistance with this.” Kallus concedes, lifting his head to meet Zeb’s gaze as he tries to maintain his balance.

“Good. I gotta go back to the Ghost to pick up my kit, I’ll be back in a sec.” Zeb beams at Kallus, and pats his arm before heading for the door.

“Your kit?” The human cocks his head.

“You didn’t think this beard looked so good by itself, didya ?” Zeb quips back as he runs his claws through his facial hair, playing with the thick purple bristles.

“Ah. I guess.”

“Stay here.”

Kallus does. He paces around the refresher, waiting for the Lasat to come back. He considers ducking away, then rejects the idea. He might feel ashamed about being so helpless, not even able to take care of himself, but he doesn’t want to disappoint Zeb. He owes him too much.

Zeb stumbles back in a couple of minutes later, panting as he drops a small leather bag in the sink beside Kallus. _Did he run the whole way?_ Kallus wonders, and he almost wants to laugh. Zeb responds with a grin in turn.

“Sorry ‘bout the wait, my stuff got moved around after Atollon.” Zeb chuckles. His smile makes something grow warm in Kallus’s chest, his heart beating just a little faster as the peek of a fang.

Once the bag is unfolded, Kallus peeks at the contents. The towel and lotion are expected, but the straight sharp blade makes his guts twist. He trusts Zeb, but he doesn’t know if that trust is enough to let the Lasat take a razor to his jaw.

The sound of a throat clearing brings Kallus back to the present. Zeb is standing close, one of his hands rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous gesture.

“So… I guess we should get started, eh?”

“I suppose,” Kallus mumbles. “How do you want me?” And oh, he realizes a second too late that his words could be interpreted as flirtatious, if one was inclined. From the way Zeb’s mouth drops open, he definitely is.

“Do you want me to sit, is what I meant.” Kallus quickly corrects himself. It’s not that he is uncomfortable at the idea of flirting with Zeb. On the contrary, he has, against his better judgment, acquired quite the fondness for the Lasat. Maybe he desperately wanted to kiss him when he stepped foot on the Ghost, but that was his prerogative, and he has made up his mind not to act on it. No point pursuing it since his feelings certainly aren’t returned.

“Right. ‘Course. Sitting on the sink might be better.” Zeb turns away, embarrassed. Kallus isn’t into him, that would be silly. That’s just the stuff he dreams about when his mind finds the time to wander. This Kallus is real, and _isn’t_ making a pass at him.

Kallus braces his hands against the edge of the sink, and lifts himself up in one jump. Thrawn’s torture be damned, his usual balance is off, and he goes too far. The collision against the mirrors never comes, though.

Instead, Zeb has an arm wrapped around his waist and a warm hand splayed across his shoulder blades. It’s nice, comforting. It doesn’t last. Zeb helps him settles back up, and lets him go, his fingers trailing along Kallus’s back. (To make sure he is stable, not to feel the heat of Kallus’s body under his palms.)

They pointedly refuse to look each other in the eye as Zeb steps between Kallus’s spread legs. Neither of them wants to take the risk to see something akin to fear or worse, disgust, in the other’s face. They retreat to the comforting silence of _friendship_ instead.

“D’you want me to save the chops? They might look different, but I could try something.” Zeb breaks the silence as he fumbles with his equipment.

“No.” Kallus utters. At the sight of Zeb’s eyes growing wide and his ears drooping, he adds: “They’ll grow back. I don’t want to be pitied.” He means it. He’s never been a man to do things halfway.

“‘Kay then.” Zeb grumbles. He likes the sideburns. They give Kallus character and they look very handsome, no matter what the rest of his crew thinks. But he understands the need for a clean slate, the final step of a change that has been a long time coming for Kallus.

Zeb grabs the tube of lotion from his kit. He doesn’t actually use it because of his fur, but Kanan gave it to him after Malachor. _The smell is too strong now_ , he’d said. Zeb pops the cap open and takes a sniff. It’s floral, but not too bad. He doesn’t think Kallus will mind. He spreads some on his palms and takes his hands to Kallus’s face.

He stops just shy of touching the man’s cheeks, waiting for permission.

“Go on,” Kallus mutters as he closes his eyes. He braces himself, but still shudders when Zeb’s big paws gently cup his jaw. It’s a lot more intimate than what he expected. The lotion feels cool in his skin, and starts foaming up as Zeb’s fingers massage it into his golden facial hair. The pads on the underside of the Lasat’s palms are rough and scratch a little as they brush Kallus’s bare skin, but it’s not unpleasant. If anything, the steady circling of Zeb’s digits on the sides of his face is soothing, and Kallus finds himself leaning into his touch.

“Whoops. Sorry ‘bout that.” Zeb apologizes as some of the foam gets under Kallus’s eye. Delicately, in way Kallus wouldn’t expect from someone with claws sharp as blades, Zeb uses the back of his knuckles to wipe it away. Kallus’s heart starts beating loud as thunder, deafening against the quiet backdrop of the dimly lit fresher.

When Zeb’s hands leave his jaw, Kallus releases a shaky breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He cracks his eyes open to catch sight of Zeb bent to the side, rinsing the foam of his fingers in the sink beside him. The Lasat looks almost bashful as he meets Kallus’s eyes, his pinprick pupils snapping down and his ears folding back.

_Unexpected._

Suddenly, the feeling of something warm on his thigh makes Kallus tense up. When he looks down, he can’t help but be disappointed at the towel he sees wrapped over his leg. _Right_ , he thinks, _for the shave_. Zeb is back between Kallus’s legs, his feet shuffling nervously.

“Look at me, Kal.” The nickname makes Kallus perk up. It’s not one he’s ever heard before; his troops certainly did not abbreviate his name, and he was _Alex_ or _Sasha_ to his family. He finds he likes it quite a lot.

He focuses his eyes on Zeb, taking in the fierce stripes on his cheeks and the darker fur covering his jaw. Kallus didn’t think he would ever be attracted to a non-human, but he finds he clearly is. Zeb is so close and it would be so simple to raise his hand and stroke the side of his face to feel the lavender fuzz there, but Kallus reminds himself to behave. He’s already in a precarious position in the resistance, he doesn’t need to jeopardize it by forcing his feelings on Zeb.

That same Lasat who is in the process of taking a sharp straight blade to Kallus throat. The human swallows but stays still. He blinks at Zeb slowly, in a manner reminiscent of a comfortable feline. _Much like a Lasat would_ , Zeb thinks.

His large hand steady, Zeb starts his work. He brings down the razor with a steady pressure, slowly scraping down Kallus’s facial hair. He does it with such precision and concentration, strip after strip, wiping the blade on the towels in between. Beneath his eyelashes, Kallus can see a pink tongue poke out of Zeb’s mouth, and an ear twitch intermittently. It’s lovely. Kallus can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Seeing bare skin appear after his stroke isn’t a surprise, but the dots that cover it are. They’re everywhere, a constellation that spans all over Kallus’s face, under his eyes, over his nose. Zeb would very much like to count them, under soft covers in tender morning embraces. The dream-like picture of sun rays illuminating Kallus’s hair as he smiles tenderly is enough to make him lose focus for an instant.

“Zeb?” Kallus’s voice is so soft Zeb barely hears it.

“Yeah?”

“You can keep going.” Kallus tries his best not to sound snippy, consciously making his voice warmer and rounder.

“Right. Sorry. I was just wondering about these.” Zeb stumbles over the words and points a finger at one of the darker spots on the ridge of Kallus’s nose.

“Freckles you mean? Many humans have them. They’re nothing special.”

 _I think they’re beautiful_ , Zeb means when he chuckles and tenderly pokes Kallus’s nose.

One side bare, Zeb starts working on the other, taking Kallus’s chin between his fingers to move his head around. His grip is firm and makes Kallus feel grounded. Safe, he would say. Kallus feels his body melting in the touch. Had he been a Lasat, he would probably be purring in that moment.

The both of them barely make a sound as Zeb carefully finishes shaving Kallus’s jaw. The silence feels heavier as time goes by, the whirr of the fan above them bouncing against the stone walls of the temple. The humid heat of the Yavin IV night makes their clothes cling to their skin yet they hardly notice.

Golden hairs cling to the towel on Kallus’s knee, his cheeks now completely bare. He looks so young, with his mussed up hair and his freckles, Zeb can't help but see the wide-eyed kid that joined the Empire because he wanted to do good. _You can do good now,_ Zeb thinks. _We can start over. Together._

Kallus’s sudden gasp pierces through the silence. The back of Zeb’s index finger is trailing down his cheek, inspecting his work, feeling how eerily smooth the skin is there. It’s so unbearably _tender,_ with the way Zeb is looking at him, his eyes half-lidded and that smile, that kriffing side smile that makes Kallus melt.

Zeb pretends not to notice Kallus’s reaction(or maybe he truly doesn’t), and uses the flip side of the towel to wipe what’s left of the foam on Kallus’s face. It feels warm, and Kallus finds himself wishing Zeb was holding his face like that, both hands cupping his jaw, without the fabric between them.

It’s over too soon. Zeb removes his hands and steps back, folding the towel and his blade away. _Come back_ , Kallus pleads silently. _Please don’t leave me._

When Kallus grabs Zeb’s wrist, it’s not on purpose. It’s a reflex, something he can’t help despite his unwavering restraint.

Iridescent green eyes meet Kallus’s amber ones, and ask a single question.

 _Is this what you want?_ Kallus doesn’t know what to answer. He doesn’t do feelings, he doesn’t do comfort. But in that moment he yearns for Zeb, more than anything he’s ever wanted in his life.

Kallus wraps his hands around the back of Zeb’s neck and pulls him in. He stops just short of their lips touching, the fear that he misinterpreted, that Zeb couldn’t possibly want him back screaming at the back of his mind.

Zeb doesn’t share his concerns.

The Lasat combs his fingers through Kallus’s hair and closes the distance between them. Their lips awkwardly press together, the difference in size new to the both of them. Hesitantly, Kallus licks Zeb’s mouth open, moaning as he’s able to feel a sharp fang brush against his tongue. Zeb tastes sweet, like the horrible syrup he uses for breakfast. Not that it’s something Kallus couldn’t get used to, especially when the Lasat angles his head and _oh_.

_Oh._

The new position allows Zeb to kiss Kallus back properly, deeply. He pushes against the other man’s lips, bracing his free hand on the edge on the metal basin. He cranes his neck and opens his mouth fully, desperate to taste more of Kallus.

With an unbecoming yelp, Kallus slips backward, his ass landing flat inside the sink. Zeb tumbles down in tandem and his paw slams flat on the bottom of the tub. The other one is still cradling Kallus’s head, making sure he’s okay.

A laugh starts bubbling up between them, a light-hearted chuckle of relief once they realize what just happened. Zeb tries to help Kallus back up as tears form in the corner of his eyes from the laughter, but Kallus can’t stop planting feather-light kisses on lips, interrupting him each time.

“You can’t stay inside there, Kal.” Zeb chuckles, barely managing to utter the words between Kallus’s kisses.

Zeb’s right. The automatic system of the fresher activates, flooding the sink with water and drenching the two randy partners in the process. They shuffle out of the tub in a hurry, leaving them with wet clothes and smitten smiles.

Kallus turns back and shuts down the water before peering at his ruined shirt. He suddenly explodes with laughter, bright and loud, in a way that Zeb has never heard before. It’s so unlike his chuckle from Bahryn, so much more honest and joyous. The Lasat leans down to kiss the corners of that smiling mouth, wrapping his arms around Kallus’s waist in a hug.

They stay like that a long while, exploring the ways their lips fit together like teenagers in love for the first time. Their wet clothes are uncomfortable, even more so with the heat, and they end up having to pull away.

“You should have told me,” Zeb says, soft as he brushes a damp strand of hair away from Kallus’s face.

“I didn’t think you could ever feel the same way as I did.”

“You’re a good man, Kal. Brave too.” Zeb sheepishly looks to the side as he adds “I wanted to kiss ya, when you got on the Ghost. But you were hurt, and we had all the refugees…”

“Oh, Zeb.” Kallus has to kiss him again to make up for all the lost opportunities.

“I don’t deserve you.” Kallus says as he pulls back.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Let’s hope high command is as kind as you.” The precarity of Kallus’s situation rears its ugly head. Their relationship, whatever it is, might end as soon as it started if he is declared guilty in the morning.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. I’ll be there. My entire crew will be behind you.” Zeb pats the side of Kallus’s bare face in a comforting gesture. Kallus looks back at him, bewildered.

“We’ll make it.” Zeb reaffirms. He drops his forehead against Kallus’s.

“Don’t give me hope.” Kallus almost sobs. He wants to live through his trial, desperately. He wants to fight by Zeb’s side, undo his wrongs. He never thought he’d get the chance.

“Hope’s kinda our thing. Can’t help it.” Zeb retorts.

“Welcome to the Rebellion, Kal,” he continues, whispering tenderly.

A arm across Kallus’s back, Zeb leads him out of the refresher, onto the Ghost. They have drenched clothes to remove, tender words to share. If they do so in the comfort of Zeb’s bunk, who can blame them?

* * *

Now with art from the wonderful [@birdlets](https://twitter.com/birdlets_) on twitter!


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